


homeward bound

by wardrobelarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Editor Au, Future AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2584838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardrobelarry/pseuds/wardrobelarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.<br/>-Mother Teresa</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Homeward Bound

 

_"In the quiet misty morning, when the moon has gone to bed,_   
_When the sparrows stop their singing, and the sky is clear and red,_   
_When the summer's ceased its gleaming, and the corn is past its prime,_   
_When adventure's lost its meaning, I'll be homeward bound in time."_

***

 

There's an incredibly loud clink-clanking in the kitchen, sounding through the thick walls of this apartment and reaching the bedroom where Louis jumps and drops his blazer on the floor. He fumbles and picks it up, clumsily shrugging it on and already hurrying out.

"Honey? You alright there?" The other boy is standing beside the counter staring at the fallen pan with a trembling hand to his mouth, but his eyes crinkle. Louis doesn't want to laugh, wants to grunt and lecture that this is the fourth time this week that pan has ended up on the floor, wants to turn around and act grumpy for the next few hours but he can't, just can't, so he laughs. The other boy laughs too. They just stand at opposite sides of the pan left lying on the tiled floor, giggling at each other as if this is supposed to be a romantic gesture.

"It's the-"

"Fourth time this week I know, I know. Sorry babe, slipped out of my hands." He says finally bending down to pick up and give that pan a fair little dust. Louis crosses his arms, looks at him and smiles really wide.

"You know Scotty," Louis says after the smallest moment of silence, "you say that every single time." At that, Scott chuckles softly, placing the pan back on the counter and walks over to Louis.

"You know sweetheart," He puts his hands on Louis' petite waist, "you should probably get to work." Louis rolls his eyes and tip toes so he can reach Scott's lips. He untangles himself from Scott, and starts collecting his sheets and his highlighters to stuff in his briefcase because no, he can't be bothered arranging them neatly anymore.

"Can you make me tea in one of those thermos things? Thanks babe." Louis asks while tossing a rather favourable black pen into his briefcase. He sees his phone being 'charged' to only 23% and curses, checking the power plug and realising that yes, in the midst of tumbling around at 1am with his eyes half closed last night he had indeed plugged his phone in without turning the charger on.

"Hahaha. Haaaaaaaaaaa." He rumbles on, grabbing the cord and stuffing it in his bag, deciding to sacrifice the charging of his laptop on the desk later and charge his phone instead because the damned office only has three power points and two are already taken up by his printer and his table lamp.

"What is it?" Scott's voice is slightly echoed around the mug he holds up to his lips. He observes Louis through his eyelashes and sees him with his eyebrows pushed towards each other, huffing out a frustrated breath.

"Didn't charge my phone last night." Louis sighs, running his fingers through his hair, which no, he doesn't think is too long. Scott hums.

"S'okay. I'll call your office phone when I need to talk to you, babe." Scott winks, and carefully sips his coffee. He likes it black with a tad bit of sugar and no milk, because he always thought that the milk takes away the essence of the coffee. Louis slowly learnt this through the time they've been together.

In fact, they've just moved in three weeks ago into this wonderful apartment down on Cannon Street in London, closer to his workplace where he's just got promoted to editor of CelebLife Magazine. Louis sometimes wonder how the hell in his life he deserved this but he tends to remind himself to focus on the present and cherish each second because sometimes, it doesn't last forever.

"I don't revolve around you, you know. Business people and family exist too, babe." Louis teases, grabbing his car keys and placing it in the pocket of his dress pants. He'd rather go to his office in a hoodie and bermudas, but of course, that's not advisory.

"Business people call your office phone and family call the landline. Technically, your phone revolves around me and Bejeweled." Scott retaliates, snickering after. Louis scoffs.

"Take care of your ego, darling. Don't let it send you into overdrive, I don't favour egomaniacs."

"Roger that. Love you babe." Scott hands the thermos full of tea to Louis and opens the door for him. Louis smiles really big.

"See you at five." After a peck on the lips he feels the need to give, Louis shuts the door behind him and makes his way to the lift.

He lives on the second floor of a seven storey apartment and he could easily trot down two flights of stairs to the ground floor but yes, he takes the lift because he can't be bothered, sue him.

When he pulls up in the reserved parking he has right in front of the entrance (HE'S EDITOR!!!!!), his assistant comes running up to his car and knocks frantically on his window. Louis waves his hand for her to stand back and swings his car door open.

"What is it, Donna?" He asks as he fetches his briefcase and his thermos from the backseat.

"Louis, you have a meeting with the director in seven minutes. I'm going to pretend that you did not forget about it and tell him that you are going to be there in five." She rushes out and offers to carry his briefcase for him. A thousand times shit, he is screwed.

"What's his name again?" Louis asks before he forgets. He presses his staff key card on the pad and stepped in once the glass doors hiss open.

"Mr. Griffiths. Richard Griffiths. Word says he's a bit of a wanker. Respect him though, don't get fired." Donna brambles on, entering the lift with Louis as he scans his staff key card again. Really, he's already scanned it at the entrance, why does he need to do it again? Even the building of the second most popular magazine in the whole of Britain has it's flaws.

"I won't get fired, Don. I'm too likeable." Louis muses, standing in the elevator beside her and waiting for the beep to sound on the 27th floor. He hears her scoff.

"Says person who blew off the new employee on his first day."

Is she going to use that now?

"He was one annoying son of a bitch and you know that." Louis says and thank god the beep sounds as they speed walk down the aisle towards his office.

"Did anyone turn up the heater this morning?" Louis asks as he sets his briefcase down on the desk, because it suddenly feels a tad bit humid.

"Richard did." Donna states simply, collecting needed documents for Louis' meeting as he plugs his phone in its charger.

"He doesn't come often, he normally works out of office. So when he comes, we just loosen up and let him run this place how he likes." Donna explains, slightly hardening the disapproving scowl on Louis' face.

"Okay, but am I not the one who should be running this place? I'm the editor right or did I get promoted in my dreams?" Louis jokes, sipping a little bit of tea from his thermos. He never liked brewing tea in the office, it always has a plastic taste and it never feels the same.

"You're editor, but he's director. Just so you know, the editor is in charge of the place, but the director is in charge of the editor. Makes me nervous for you Louis. You need to remember that he's your boss. Don't treat him like an employee or he'll blow up." Donna advises, acting like Louis doesn't know that already.

"Gee, take a joke, Don. I'll be fine." Louis says and thanks her as she passes the clipboard with all needed documents in it. Donna better be right because Louis doesn't have time to look through the pile. But she normally is, so he doesn't fuss much.

He starts down the aisle with fast steps, tugging a little bit on his tie.

"What's his name, Louis?" He hears Donna yell down the hall for reassurance.

"Mr. Grimm." Louis yells back, and snickers as he hears a frustrated wail sounding across the aisle. He nods at several staff, and acknowledges the lad at the photocopy machine with the highest quiff in the building with a loud "Bro!"

He reaches an office with an old man pacing in front of a white couch, and assumes it is the one. He knocks on the door and watches as the man looks up, sees Louis and grins as he waves him in. Louis pushes the door and makes sure it closes before he steps forward. What's his name? Griffin? Grimmond? Grimes?

"Tomlinson, Louis. Sorry I'm running a little late, Mr. Griffiths." Louis greets the director and shakes his hand firmly.

"I know your name, Tomlinson. And yes, I will let you off this time but I hate tolerating latecomers. Now, shall we start?" Richard threatens, and gestures to a seat opposite him as he sits down on the white couch. He picks up a mug of coffee and carefully drinks from it while looking at Louis, waiting. Louis clears his throat, walks over to sit down and places his clipboard on the coffee table.

"Okay. So, where do we start?" Louis mutters, shuffling through his documents.

"I don't know, you tell me." Richard replies and smiles wickedly. Louis' head snaps up, not expecting the sharp remark.

"It was, um, a rhetorical, kind of..." Louis tries to explain but is cut off by a raised eyebrow.

"Right. Sales. This month, it's been good, 0.2 percent rising from the last result, income increased by 127,634 pounds and profit by 57,495 pounds. I'd say we're doing exceptionally well for the first month of my um, promotion, Mr. Griffiths." Louis starts, pointing out a few statistics on a printed Excel document.

"Good, good. I hear you're having a celeb over today for a guest shoot?" Richard comments, setting his mug down.

"Ah, yes. Niall Horan. Rising star, sir. He's starting to get big around the world, the Irish bloke. Just released a single and many teens are buzzing about it-"

"Not interested, Tomlinson. Just get me good sales and I'm a happy man for you." Richard cuts Louis off, taking him by surprise. Wanker precaution 73% approved.

"Okay, well, he's coming around in a half hour, and will be doing the shoot in the studio on the 11th floor. Our best photographer, Sarah McNollens will be taking on the shoot. I'll be there too." Louis explains, watching as Richard nods slowly several times throughout his speech.

"You better be. I trust you understand the limitations of our shoots?" Richard raises an eyebrow. What limitations, we've published underwear shoots before, Louis thinks.

"Yes, Mr. Griffiths. I've been working here for more than four years-"

"Now, Tomlinson," Richard interrupts abruptly, "I'm a man of certain expectations. For example, I like it when my questions are answered literally. So when I ask you what your favourite fruit is, you don't tell me it's pomegranate because it's sweet and juicy. You tell me it's pomegranate."

I hate pomegranate, Louis thinks.

"You hear me, Tomlinson?" Wanker precaution 310% approved.

"Yes, but I was trying to be explanatory Mr. Griffiths-"

"It's been great meeting you, Tomlinson." Richard extends his hand out for Louis to shake.

"You can call me Louis." Louis says even though he doesn't really mean it, and shakes the wrinkly hand of Richard.

"And you can't tell me what to do, Louis." Richard breaks a sly smile and opens the door for Louis to exit. Louis refrains from scoffing and telling this Richard guy to go fuck himself, and instead smiles as he exits.

"Because this is our first meeting, it's fairly short. However, expect our coming meetings to be more... Sophisticated. Explanatory." What the fuck?

"And... How often are we having these meetings again?" Louis asks, stretching a grin as if he's looking forward to them.

"Every month, on the first." Richard doesn't even glance at him as he shuts the door. Louis huffs a breath exasperatedly (and it's only the first hour of the day) and strides down the hallway.

"Mr. Tomlinson!" Louis was very close to cussing out loud but with all the staff around, but wouldn't it be a tad bit inappropriate? So he turns around with a fake smile for the thousandth time today and faces the wrath of New Employee.

"I've been researching into many magazine templates and themes and I was wondering, since Valentine's Day is coming up, we could do a Valentine's Day theme! Like, hearts, and roses, and lots of red and pink and meaningful quotes..." Louis rubs the area between his eyes rather tiresomely.

"Liam, Liam, stop. No, we are not doing a Valentine's Day theme, that's what magazines like Girly-Barbie-Pop do. And we're not one of those magazines." Louis muses, pausing to look at Liam properly. He doesn't even flinch, and Louis reckons he doesn't even realise Louis is not being nice to him. He'd probably sing a greeting to a pigeon that've just shat on his face.

"There's no such magazine. But okay." Liam squeaks, and Louis starts walking off to his office.

"Oh and Mr. Tomlinson? Can I call you Louis?" He hears Liam chirp.

"No." He yells back, before turning a corner and making sure he's beyond eyesight of New Employee. Seconds later, he felt a firm slap on his back and hissed, ready to turn and make sure New Employee figures out what not being nice is-

"Bro, you look like you're homicidal. Stop it, you're scaring people." Zayn teases, pinching Louis' waist as he walks with him. Louis grunts and pinches back on Zayn's ear piercing, making him yelp and smack his hand away.

"That's because I am homicidal." Louis complains, nodding at Advice article writer Healy from his cubicle.

"I saw you being typical with the new guy. What's your problem with him?" Zayn asks, sounding almost offensive. Louis holds the spot where his heart is supposed to be (he thinks) and stares at Zayn accusingly.

"Are you defensive now? Over Liam Payne? Look, look, I understand you want to shag him very badly and you can shag him all you want but I'm not going to be nice when I don't want to be." Louis jokes, rolling his eyes as a smirk plays on his lips.

"I don't want to only shag him, Louis, I want to...you know what? Never mind." Zayn sighs, reaching up to fix his quiff a little bit.

"Whoa, whoa. You don't want to only shag him? You want to- you want to go on a movie date dinner date cuddle date all that sappy stuff with him? Zayn Beyoncé Malik, I just need to remind you that romantic relationships between working partners are illegal. Sorry to crush your dreams mate, but a shag in the files storeroom still could do." Louis rambles, and Zayn groans for half of it.

"I'm going to ignore you, Lou. You're being unreasonable." Zayn mutters, fetching his iPad up from underneath his arm.

"Technically, the law system is being unreasonable. Queen Elizabeth is being unreasonable." Louis reasons but Zayn interrupts him.

"That Irish star you have today?" Zayn asks, "he just sent an email saying he'll be 15 minutes late. Well, technically, he said 'Up in the streets of London, everything is so picturesque! Buildings and stuff! So cool! Seeing this couple walk down the sidewalk wearing the big hats with the ribbons and stuff, feel like I'm back in the nineties! Anyway, going to take 15 minutes checking this cool thing out, don't wait up! See ya lads! Excited!'" Zayn reads aloud in a monotone.

" _I hate tolerating latecomers._ " Louis subconsciously mocks Mr. Griffiths. He is not looking forward to the first day of next month. In fact, he's never looking forward to the first day of any month ever again.

"Says Louis Tomlinson." Zayn jokes. His hand reaches up to fix his quiff for the second time during the span of their conversation.

"Got to go now, see you in the studio." Louis lightly elbows Zayn's side as he walks up to his office. Donna stands behind her desk in front of Louis' door.

"How'd it go?" She asks, stepping in Louis' office together with him and closing the door behind her. Louis goes to the black couch positioned on the right side of his office and flops down on it. He reaches behind and pulls out Niall Horan's payment files, flipping through them to double-check how much this guy's costing them, and his personal requirements.

"You were right. He's very much of a wanker." Louis sighs, scanning the document in front of him. The words get a tad bit blurry, forcing Louis to squint his eyes.

"I'm always right." Donna is ignored.

"Can you pass me my glasses please love? They're on the desk." Louis says, stretching his arm out to retrieve the fragile object from Donna. He puts them on, keens as the words return to a logical (at least to Louis) shape.

"He's charging 12,000 pounds." Louis states after scanning through the first page, feeling rather surprised. He scans through the document again, more thoroughly this time, and nope, he wasn't seeing things.

"Mm." Donna nods, sitting herself down on on of Louis' chairs and mindlessly spinning around. Louis checks again.

"That's a surprisingly low amount of money someone that famous is costing a magazine to have him as a privileging feature." Louis mutters, tilting his head up at Donna, looking for an explanation.

"He didn't say much," She says, almost as if she read Louis' mind, "but you can ask him when he comes. Heard he's a pretty easy-going lad." Donna stands up, ready to leave.

"Where are you going?" Louis asks, even though he knows exactly where she's going. It's nine-thirty.

"To go get coffee. Right after, we need to head to the studios." She walks out and leaves the glass door to clank close, and even through that barrier Louis can hear her heels clicking on the concrete. Her red hair is tied into a bun, creating a clever contrast between that and her professional black dress that reaches just below her knees.

Louis reads the document further, taking the bottom corner of the page between his fingers time to time to flip around the pages. He tries not to admit it, but he's feeling nervous. Just a tad bit though.

He's done shoots before, with people as famous as Katy Perry, but he never played the editor-role in any if them. Well, he's been to enough shoots to know exactly what the editor does, but still, he has the right to feel jittery. Especially when it's Niall Horan.

Five minutes later Donna comes into the office and beckons Louis out. Louis unplugs his phone, which is charged to 53% (good enough) and stalks down the hall with Donna towards the elevator. He meets Zayn there, standing elegantly with his files under his arm and a pair of glasses resting on his nose.

Louis taps on Zayn's glasses several times, enough for him to realise what Louis means. He hurriedly reaches up to take them off, folds them up properly and places them in his pocket.

"Thanks, mate." Zayn says and Louis nods proudly, because he's a good enough friend to notice through the years that Zayn was never a fan of wearing his glasses in public.

They reach the studio, going in and seeing that everything has been set up perfectly. Louis watches himself from 5 years ago adjust the standing lights in front of the white screen, and ticking things off the checklist with an ink pen that's almost out of juice.

"He's here." The woman working at the main register announces when she pokes her head from behind the door. She waits for Louis' approval and swings the door wide when Louis nods.

"Wey hey, everybody! How're you all doing?" A man wearing shades, a hoodie and sneakers bursts through the door with the biggest grin Louis' seen so far this morning. He strides in, shakes everybody's hand before he comes to Louis.

"Hello mate! What's up?" He shakes Louis' hands firmly, and stands there waiting for an answer.

"Um, I'm good thanks. My name's Louis Tomlinson." Louis tries his hardest to act professional, but it's hard when this Niall guy is practically radiating energy and rowdiness.

"Well, loosen up a bit, Louis. This is my bodyguard, Mark." Niall gestures to a buff man standing at the door, and Louis leans forward to greet him.

"You are welcome take a seat there." Louis smiles and beckons Mark to a placement of couches at the corner of the studio. He takes Niall to the changing room.

"Lou, get him done. His hair needs a little bit of gelling and that shirt is off the table. Niall, mate, hope you don't mind the slight tweaking in your appearance." Louis tells Lou, and restrains from a smirk as Niall Horan's mouth drops open slightly at his change of tone.

 

*

 

"A Caramel Macchiato please, regular and less sugar thank you." Louis orders, and gives a five pound note to the cashier. She receives it, prints out a receipt and coldly tells Louis to wait at the end of the counter. Louis wonders how the circumstances would differ if she'd known he worked with Niall Horan and that he has his number saved in his phone.

He walks over, glancing at the receipt once, twice, just to pass time. He watches the lady behind a coffee machine, frothing milk and fetching a container of caramel syrup with an arm with the most bracelets he's ever seen in his life.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out to see a text.

_Where are you, babe? xx S_

Louis smiles, his thumbs rushing to type out a reply.

_Just grabbing a coffee before I head home. I'll see you in a bit. :)xx L_

He pockets his phone as the lady hands him his drink. He thanks her and sips a small amount from it, careful not to burn his mouth, and bins the receipt. He thinks about tomorrow, how a new issue of CelebLife is due to be published two days after, and how he needs to go through every single article to make sure they are in good condition to be let out into the public. He's thinking that he'll need to stay in for a couple more hours, is already planning a packed dinner in his head and doesn't notice at all when a man stands up from his seat right in front of Louis.

Louis bumps into him, stumbling a little bit but steadying himself soon enough that his Macchiato doesn't spill.

"Oops," the other lad says rather bashfully, and Louis gets ready to put on his cold glare because no one just stands up from their seat when someone else is walking towards them-

The lad looks up, and his eyes widen in sync with Louis'. Both men just stare at each other, unable to make up words. But in his head, Louis notices a lot of things. For one, his hair has grown so much longer, reaching his shoulders but still managing the reckless curls. It falls over a small portion of his face, but not enough to cover his eyes. There are a few lines located beside his eyes and on his forehead, where bright smooth baby skin used to be.

For a second, Louis feels himself go back 8 years, when he would get lost in an all too familiar sea of green with dandelions blossoming in the middle of all the mess. Because that is the only thing that hasn't changed in the matter of years.

And then, breathlessly, Louis says the first greeting to him in so, so long. Too long.

"Hi."

 

***

 _"If you find it's me you're missing, if you're hoping I'll return,_  
 _To your thoughts I'll soon be listening, in the road I'll stop and turn._  
Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end,  
And the path I'll be retracing when I'm homeward bound again."

***

 

"Lou-Louis?" Harry stutters, and Louis' mind immediately races to notice the massive drop in the pitch of Harry's voice.

"Harry Styles." Louis muses, a smirk taking over his features and he hopes so desperately that it was enough to cover up that vulnerable look in his eyes that unconsciously emerged. Harry grins and it's so bright it's burning in Louis' eyes.

"How are you?" Harry says so breathlessly and Louis remembers. Louis remembers that tone at sunset when they're tangled together and Harry says goodnight. Louis remembers that tone on cotton sheets, flustered chests pressed against one another and words said that could never be taken back. Words said that could never be wanted to take back.

"I'm, I'm well, have never been better. Yourself?" Louis replies when he snaps out of his little train of thoughts.

"I'm stoked to see you here. What are you doing in London?" Harry says excitedly, and Louis realises he didn't answer his question at all.

"I moved here just a few weeks ago with," Louis clears his throat. "Um. Well what are you doing in London?" Louis asks and a second later regrets what he didn't say. He shouldn't be bothered about mentioning Scott, he's next to the best thing that's very happened to Louis, and Louis makes sure he doesn't think about what he's next to.

"I'm a phD student in the University of London." Harry states, rather proudly, his posture straightening as he says it. He should be proud. Louis would be proud of himself if he were Harry.

"Oh, that's great! What course are you on?" Louis asks, even though he sort of knew the answer to that already. It was all Harry would talk about. Going to London, moving into a simple dodgy-but-homey flat and waking up in the mornings to walk to the lecture hall. Louis should've thought about it as he was packing for the move. But then again, maybe he did.

"Journalism." Harry chirps, and Louis smiles wider because he was right.

"Nothing's changed, huh?" Louis muses, chuckling slightly at what he thought was a light joke. He watches as Harry's eyes soften and a question swims in his orbs. Louis realises immediately that he has gone down a very very dangerous path.

It seems like the only way out of this is out of this coffee shop.

"So, I'll see you around?" Louis hurriedly says, sipping his drink idly and waiting for a reply. Harry seems surprised, his mouth repeatedly opening and closing as he struggles to find something to say. Louis suppresses a giggle that threatens to erupt from a certain warmth that settled in his chest.

"Yeah. Hey, wait." Harry says as Louis was about to step out. His head whips around, and for a moment he just stares at Harry, and Harry just stares back at him, and he feels like he's standing on the tips of his toes, at the edge of a cliff going down for five thousand miles and now he's falling falling falling and...

Boom bang.

"Do you want to um, trade numbers? So we can catch up some time?" Harry says slowly, almost like he's careful about the words that come out of his mouth, almost as if they're like glass, and if you say one thing wrong it all topples and shatters and they're left as millions of fragments on the ground impossible to put together. Louis concentrates on breathing instead, inhaling and exhaling, something sure and easy.

"Yeah. Yeah, why not?" Louis finally says, stepping closer and fishing his phone out. Unlocking it, he quickly closes the chat window with Scott and passes it to Harry. He takes Harry's in turn and saves his number in it.

"Great. I'll um, I'll call you." Harry beams, and Louis needs to get out of here.

"Yeah. And I'll pick up." Louis jokes, and turns towards the door. As he gets into his car he glances at Harry through the window, and there he is, grinning at his phone like an idiot.

 

*

 

There's one thing, Louis' keys jingle way too loud in the empty hallway every time he's fiddling with it to unlock the door. But he doesn't have to worry about that now because even before he puts the key in, the door swings open and he is pulled in by his forearm, lips on lips with the sound of the slamming door ringing in his ears.

"Someone missed me." He says into the kiss, sound muffled by plump lips that taste like rosemary and Worcestershire sauce. Scott laughs, tickling Louis' sides, making him squeal and hop away chuckling. Scott returns to the kitchen, opens a pot of something and stirs it with a wooden spoon. The sauce is red, and Scott licks some from the spoon before putting it back down. He opens another pot and pokes something that clunks noisily around the steel insides.

"Shepherd's Pie." Louis hums happily, and flings his briefcase onto one of the dining chairs before striding into the kitchen. Logan smiles, and takes out a colander from a drawer underneath the sink.

"Can I help with anything?" Louis asks, rubbing his hands together while tastefully looking at the pots.

"You can help by passing me that coffee you got on the table there and going to get a shower." Logan says, reaching a hand out. Louis chuckles, passing the now lukewarm mug of Macchiato to Scott and pecking him on the cheek.

"Dinner will be ready when you come out." Scott's reassures, draining the potatoes in the sink. Louis nods even though Scott's not looking at him, and goes into their room. He takes off his tie and his blazer, hanging them in the closet. Stripping off everything else, he steps in the shower and turns the tap on.

He makes sure it's an adequate temperature, not too hot but creating a slight sting before stepping under the shower head. He takes a long, thoughtful breath as the water trickles through his hair and drips down onto his back.

He thinks about 16 year-old Louis in high school with his heart in his hands as he shampoos his hair. He thinks about just-came-out Louis with the warmth of freedom raging inside him as he washes the shampoo off. He thinks about Advanced-English student Louis not being able to take his eyes of a certain attractive boy sitting in the front row as he rubs his body down with soap.

He thinks about how everything looked so easy when he was sixteen. Passing a test, making friends, taking the acknowledgement of 'the good-looking class clown'. Falling in love.

He steps out of the shower, watching as the mist escapes from the cubicle and blurs the image he has of himself in the mirror. He snags his towel off the rack and tries not to think about it.

When he comes out, dinner is ready, just like Scott said. He sits down in the opposite seat, and savours the luxurious look of the Shepherd's Pie in front of him. He sighs happily, picking up his fork.

"I'm so lucky to have you." Louis muses, taking a huge bite off the pie. Scott snickers, cutting himself a piece.

"Now you've got me worrying that you only moved in with me because I can cook." Scott kids, stuffing lamb mince into his mouth. Louis raises both his hands defensively.

"I'm a man of taste and reason. What are you gonna do about it?" Louis teases, pursing his lips into a closed smile.

"Hm. Maybe take this away from you." Scott says and before Louis can react, Scott snatches his plate up and holds it far behind him with a stretched arm.

"Heyyyyyy, give that back." Louis whines disapprovingly, but the smile on his face says otherwise. Scott lets out a hideous cackle, stretching his arm further out. Louis leans forward and attempts to grab his plate, but his god damned short arms can't do the job.

"Come oooonnnnn." Louis groans, frowning at Scott like a lost dog. Scott just laughs, that insensitive scab, and purses his lips at Louis. Louis takes the chance and kisses him, moving his lips hungrily around Scott's the way he likes it. Scott's lips stay unmoving for a few seconds, persistent but not persistent enough as he gives up soon and returns the favour to Louis. With his arms around Scott's neck and his hips pressing on the edge of the table, Louis kisses Scott with one motif, and one motif only.

Unconsciously, Scott relaxes his arm and brings it closer to his body. His free hand drops the fork he was holding, and slides itself into Louis' hair. If Louis weren't hungry, he would've brought this to the bedroom.

So with a slick move, Louis' right arm lets go of Scott's neck and reaches for the plate. He successfully snatches it out of Scott's hand and quickly sits back onto his seat, grinning proudly at himself. Scott is dazed, caught between the urge to keep kissing Louis and the urge to punch him.

"You little shit." He drags the words out slowly, glaring playfully at Louis. Louis laughs in triumph, putting a huge piece of pie into his mouth.

"The Tommo strikes and wins yet again! Oh, how the fans roar his name and worship his unquestionable victory! Oh how-"

"Oh how 'The Tommo' should really absolutely shut up and eat his pie!" Scott interrupts, reaching over to plant his hand over Louis' mouth. Louis' laugh is muffled into his palm, the sound traveling a thousand miles before reaching the outside world.

 

*

 

The couch is cold under Louis skin when he sits down. He looks around the flat mindlessly, waiting for Scott to join him. In the meantime, he picks up the television remote and turns the TV on. The news flickers on, showing the outside of a hotel where thousands of girls are crowded around.

"With pop star Niall Horan in town, hundreds of fans skip school and wait outside of his hotel, with hopes that they will meet him..."

"Hey, isn't that the bloke you lads had over this afternoon?" Scott asks, walking towards the couch with two refilled glasses of red wine.

"Yeah. Nice lad, that one. Gave me his number to ring whenever I want to 'hang'." Louis comments as he takes his glass from Scott. At this, Scott seems to lose the ability of swallowing, as he carelessly spits his wine onto the coffee table (not the couch, thank god).

"Scotty! What the fuck?" Louis exclaims, running to grab a dish towel from the kitchen. He comes back and hurriedly wipes it up before it flows down the side of the table and onto the carpet. "Jesus Christ," he mutters with gritted teeth, "you're going to get our carpet stained, you wanker."

"You have Niall Horan's number? I mean, it's bad enough you worked with him and now you've got his fucking number?" Scott shouts, completely ignoring Louis' previous statements.

"Why are you shouting?" Louis says, raising his voice a little to match up with Scott. He walks to the laundry and throws the dish towel into the washing machine, with Scott tailing behind him accusingly.

"I am shouting because you had Niall Horan's number and you didn't come in jumping and squealing and making it the first thing you tell me about your day!" Scott rambles rather quickly, forcing Louis to have to pay a bit more attention to his blurred syllables to make sense out of what he's trying to say. Louis rolls his eyes, and takes Scott's shoulders from behind to push him toward the couch.

"Calm the fuck down, honey, it's not like I've married David Beckham or such." Louis says, pushing Scott down to sit on the couch before he does, because apparently he can't do it by himself. Louis picks his wine glass back up again, sipping idly while looking back at a rather irritated Scott.

"Louis, don't you get it? Niall Horan is huge. You've got his number, basically direct access to him at any time. Louis," Scott says his name for the second time as if it helps emphasise his point, "you've hit the fucking jackpot."

"Okay, okay, what do you want me to do with it?" Louis says and Scott's jaw drops open like he couldn't believe Louis just said that. Louis furrows his eyebrows, a little annoyed at this seemingly premature behaviour that only a fifteen year-old girl should obtain.

"Are you for real, Louis Tomlinson?" Scott laughs, a laugh that makes Louis feel like he's the most hopeless human being in the world, which he's not. He finishes his third glass of wine in one gulp.

"Fuck, Scott, I don't have time to deal with your bullshit. Get to the fucking point." Louis spits, narrowing his eyebrows together. Scott seems taken back by this, smile dropping and an apologetic frown taking over his face.

"Okay, sorry babe, that was rude. I was just, that was rude. I mean, it's Niall Horan-" Scott reasons and Louis really doesn't want to hear it at all so he thanks god when his phone rings.

"Got to go get that." He interrupts, standing up and jogging into the bedroom to pick his phone up from its charger. Without bothering to see who it was he slides across the screen and holds it into his ear, rubbing his temples tiredly.

"Tomlinson speaking." He says, with a certain formality in his voice he had learnt to master through the years.

"Louis? It's Harry. Is this a bad time?" Louis' hand freezes on his temples. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

"Uh, no! Of course not! How can I help you?" Louis says hurriedly because what else is he supposed to say? Harry chuckles nervously on the other end of the line, and Louis grits his teeth and covers his eyes with his free hand.

"Nothing, I just, I was bored and I had your like, yeah." Harry mumbles incoherently, and Louis struggles to keep up. He gives up second later and chooses instead to answered with a dazed "What?"

"Doesn't matter." Harry rushes out. "So, what are you doing?" He says, letting a shameless yawn escape in the middle of his sentence. His voice is droopy and impossibly low, giving Louis the image of a very sleepy Harry. Louis tries not to giggle.

"Nothing much. I'm very tired, though. Feel like I might pass out any second." Louis says, and maybe it's because it's somehow contagious or something (he's read it on the internet once), but he yawns too. Something about the drag of Harry's voice makes him want to curl up in a thousand throws and sleep for the next 48 hours. In a good way, though.

"Oh, gosh, I didn't interrupt you sleeping right? Shit, I'm an idiot." Harry whispered harshly into the phone, and Louis refrains from laughing out loud. Instead, his face splits into a grin, going as far back as his cheeks could possibly go.

"No, no you didn't, I'm just tired. Work and all that." Louis sighs, opening his closet just for the sake of moving. He fingers through the stacks of clothes and feels as the fabric differ from nylon, to cotton, to wool. Feels as his thoughts differ from nylon, to cotton, to wool.

"Right." Harry breathes in relief, but then he goes silent for half a second. "Oh, you never told me anything about that." He says accusingly, like he expects Louis to tell him, like Louis was supposed to update him, even though they haven't talked since about 7 years ago.

"So," Harry says after the part where Louis forgets he's supposed to say something, "tell me about it. Tell me about your job. What have you been doing?" Harry asks, a string of questions that Louis could've answered very easily in other circumstances, with other people. But it's now, and it's Harry, and something about letting Harry know about what he does everyday, what he has agreed to succumb to for almost the rest of his life, makes him feel slightly vulnerable.

But then he reminds himself that Harry now is like every other person, is just like another old friend he passes on the street. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more. So with that mindset, he recites what he's been saying to multiple people over the past month.

"I'm uh, editor. Editor of CelebLife Magazine." Louis manages to choke out, and doesn't even have time to think about what he had just done because Harry shouts down the line incredibly loudly.

"You're what?" Harry sounds absolutely astounded, and Louis has to put his phone away from his ear for a second. Still, he feels his scull vibrate with the deep voice of Harry Styles' surprise.

"Editor of CelebLife Magazine." Louis repeats, and closes the closet door after realising that his hand had frozen over the football jersey he had from high school. He walks over to his bedside table and picks up a notepad, thumbing over the pages. Again, just for the sake of moving.

"Yeah, I know. I heard you. But good lord Louis, CelebLife Magazine? Are you fucking with me?" Harry almost yells down the line, and Louis flinches slightly at the audits of his voice. It rings vibrant and bright in his ears, laced with the element of envy and shock. Louis feels a sense of pride pooling in his stomach.

"No, I am not fucking with you, Styles. What makes you think that?" He teases, gripping the pages of the notepad tightly. His thumb rubs across the first page, feeling the rough and creased surface of it. Written on it is the phone number of Louis' favourite Thai restaurant in Scott's handwriting.

"Holy mother of god that is sick." Harry gasps. "Wait, your next issue is featuring Niall Horan. Does that mean..." Harry gushes, and under his breath, he whispers shit.

"Yes, I worked with Niall Horan. World known pop star. Up and rising legend. Very nice lad, that one. Bit cheeky, bit stubborn, but fun to work with." Louis boasts because he can, because he wants to. Because he suddenly feels so proud of himself, prouder than he ever felt telling anyone else but Harry.

"Shut the fuck up." Harry says through gritted teeth, and a sly smile creeps onto Louis' face. Louis is going to have fun with this-

"Do you want more wine, honey?" Scott shouts from the living room (which isn't very far away), startling Louis and pulling the smile off his face. The nerve he had to ask that, after Louis being clear that he wasn't quite pleased with him. Louis is mad at Scott, he is, for being rude and unreasonable and he's about to yell out a sharp reply when the deep, rumbling, robotic voice of Harry interrupts his brain system entirely.

"You've got company." He says, and it almost sounds disappointed. It's that tone that Louis recognises from whenever he did something stupid, like go skateboarding without permission, and his mother tries to talk to him afterwards. Go sleep, Lou, you've got school tomorrow. She doesn't say she's disappointed, but it's there, Louis can feel it in her voice and whatever Louis felt, he is feeling now.

"Harry..." Louis sighs with absolutely no clue what he was supposed to say afterwards. "I-" He tries, but Harry yawns mid-sentence.

"It's getting kind of late, I think I'm gonna head to bed now. Goodnight, Louis." Harry says, and Louis is left dumbfounded and frozen with the notepad on the ground.

"Goodnight." Louis answers to the robotic beeping sound that has replaced Harry's voice.

He puts down his phone and reconnects it to its charger. Walking out of the room, he fetches his glass from the coffee table and brings it to the sink. Without bothering to balance out the water temperature, he rinses it in freezing water that makes his hands hurt.

"Don't you want more?" A voice says from behind him and in normal circumstances, Louis would come up with something witty to remark. But tonight, he just mutters a small "I'm really tired" and lightly pecks Scott on the lips. Scott is dazed, and he lets Louis slip into the room with a soft, questioning "okay".

So Louis goes to bed that night, with the duvet tucked under his chin and a guilt he isn't supposed to feel.

 

*

 

"Donna?" Louis speaks into his telecom, and hears the stuttering sound of machinery for a second before Donna answers him.

"What's up?" She chirps, and Louis can see through the glass how she leans forward to talk into the machine.

"Can you come into my office, please?" He asks, and then Donna standing up from her chair and turning around to enter Louis' office. Louis rolls his chair back and tilts his chin up to look at her. "Close the door." She does as he asks, reaching behind her to gently push the door close with a slick.

He has just published the Niall Horan issue a week ago, and the hits were unreal. The sales chart shot up like a rocket ship, and Louis feels more than a little proud of himself. That is, until a call came in this morning from Niall's agent.

Your magazine issue featuring our client Niall Horan had managed to reach out to mass amounts of the public, and because of that privilege, we would like to co-operate with you and display certain information that will decrease chances of unwanted exposure though it may differ from substantive circumstances, they had said.

And Louis' not stupid. Louis knows publicity stunts when he sees them.

And what, exactly, are the substantive circumstances? Louis had asked. Our client does not have a girlfriend, they told him. But we'd like the public eye to think otherwise.

And why is that? Louis was very, very confused.

My client's new record label is to be release in a month, and we'd like to centre the public's attention to him as so his release of another record label will be successful.

Have you had his consent? Louis asked, and that was when everything else kicked in.

"Oh, dear. Something's happened." Donna sighs, and Louis gestures for her to sit on the chair opposite him.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Louis asks, raising his eyebrows. Donna winces, slightly unpleased with how the matter turned personal.

"Um... No." She means it as a statement but it sounds more like a question, her seemingly unsure about where this is going. Louis frowns, fiddling with his fingers.

"How would you feel if I told all the ladies you did have a boyfriend just so they would be friends with you and get all the juice?" Louis throws, waiting patiently for Donna's answer. "But they're already friends with me." She says, tilting her head in silent doubt. "What are you on about, Louis?"

"No, like, just pretend they aren't. How would you feel?" Louis carries on, seeking for any signs that he isn't the only one who's thinking the way he is.

"Horrible. Now get to the point, Louis. What is this about?" Donna presses, her tone harsh and demanding. Louis sighs, sinking back into his chair and groaning. When he sits back up to face Donna, her eyebrows are furrowed, staring at Louis and waiting, waiting for him to give her the reason she was called in.

"Horan's Management wants us to aid them in a publicity stunt." At this, Donna nods slowly, her right leg crossing over her left. "What kind of publicity stunt?"

"They want us to tell the public Horan has a girlfriend. Or a person of interest, to be technical." Louis drags out, and Donna is still nodding slowly, looking calm when Louis' brain is about to burst into flames. "And he doesn't?" She asks.

"No. He doesn't."

"And why exactly would they want to do that?" Donna questions, sitting further back into her seat and eyeing Louis with a certain expression he can't quite put a word to.

"He's releasing a new record label. They want it to be more successful than it could be." He explains further, still closely examining Donna's expressions. They don't seem to fit in Louis' criteria.

"And does Horan know about this?"

"He does, but he's not actually agreeing to it, not like his opinion matters to his management, anyway." Louis says, and the words are bitter in his tongue. He scowls, not feeling as up to it as Niall's agent seem to be.

"I think you should do it." Donna says suddenly, and Louis' head snaps up at that. She seems content with her decision, while Louis' eyebrows are about to shoot out of his head.

"Donna," he says through gritted teeth, leaning forward onto the table, "this is false information we're dealing with here. False. Information. False information about someone we're giving to the public." He tries, but Donna only stares at him nonchalantly.

"False information that this guy's career depends on. False information that can earn us a whole lot of money. Do you know how much they pay for magazines like us to aid them in a publicity stunt?" Donna retaliates, and Louis stands up from his chair. His hand fists in his hair, pacing in front of his table.

"This is a guy's trust we're playing with! His feelings are on the line, Donna. You just said! You'd feel horrible if someone were to tell the public untrue things about you, so wouldn't he, too?" Louis is almost yelling by now, his voice raised along with his frustration. Donna only frowns and shakes her head.

"Sometimes you've got to take feeling horrible for your life to not fall apart. Do you realise, Louis, that the success of this guy's record label is what's going to determine whether he stays with his job?" Donna reasons, and Louis is left with only looking at her helplessly. She sighs and stands up.

"Just think about it, Louis. Besides, Richard isn't going to let you off after you've just thrown off an opportunity to strike a fat cheque, and you know it. Consider it." And there's the word Louis was looking for. Consideration.

Donna exits the office, leaving Louis pretty much doubtful about every decision he's been making. So is everything all about money, now? So has money, finally climbed atop feelings and trust?

He sits back down and huffs out an exasperated breath. A second later he realises that his career, too, depends on the decision he's about to make.

 

*

 

That evening, Louis finds himself back at Costa Coffee, with a receipt in his hand and an elbow propped up against the counter. A young lad grins and passes his coffee to him, as if the world isn't bothering him at all. Louis takes the cup, and does a small hand salute in replacement of verbal communication. Hand salutes should be polite enough.

His phone rings as he turns his car key in ignition. The engine roars to life, and Louis sets down his coffee to pick it up.

"Yes, Donna?" Louis muses, clutching his phone between his cheek and shoulder. He shifts the gear and reverses out of the car park.

"Richard called the office, and wants to know what your decision is regarding the publicity stunt." Donna says, almost carefully with a message hidden behind each word. Say yes, Louis. Say yes, Louis. Let's earn a big fat cheque, Louis.

"Yeah." He sighs, turning a corner and letting the sound of the crunching gravel drown out Donna's content.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, let's do it." Louis says, and he presses down on the brake in front of a red light and pulls out his phone to turn the loudspeaker on. He places it on the armrest, and grips the steering wheel tightly.

"Great. Horan's management is organising his leaving of a party with Barbara Palvin, and the topic will be in our next issue. Which is in another week. Sally will be present at the event to take a few photographs and you'll take over from then on." Donna rambles through Louis' phone speakers.

"Sounds good- wait. This couldn't possibly have been arranged within the three seconds I told you I was agreeing to it so was this all planned out before that?" Louis questions disapprovingly, while Donna only chuckles lightly on the other end of the line.

"Well, I did tell you Richard wasn't going to let you push it out. He agreed to it even before the agent called you." Donna explains. Louis angrily taps his fingers on the steering wheel, unwilling to say anything. "I'll see you tomorrow, Louis," Donna sighs, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. "Have a good night." With that, the phone clicks and a robotic beeping sound echoes inside the boundaries of his car.

Louis drops his head on the steering wheel, lasting like that for as long as the next time a driver honks from behind him to move forward.

As he parks his car behind his apartment later, his phone rings again. Exasperatedly, he slides it out of his pocket and almost slams it to his ear.

"What else do you want, Donna?" He spits, heavily stepping towards the entrance of his building. He pushes the glass door open, and heads toward the lift.

"Whoever Donna is, you mustn't be quite pleased with her at this moment." A deep rumbling voice that could only belong to one person snickers at Louis' demand. "Harry," Louis says, almost surprised, "sorry about that."

"That's fine. What's going on?" Harry asks, with a chirpy tone that hugely contrasts with Louis' I really hate Richard Griffiths tone. He sighs, and rubs his temples, something he finds himself doing very often today.

"Nothing, just, you know, tough day at work." Louis mutters, shuffling his feet back and forth. His dress shoes create a rough sound as it brushes against the ground, and Louis lets the sound flood his brain along with Harry's discontent grunt.

"Oh. That won't last, don't worry." Harry sings, and Louis wonders if it's just Harry or is he not bothered by life in general. Whatever it is, his voice sounds inviting, like it's telling Louis to just fire at me, I'll take it, tell me your frustrations, I'll show you everything will be alright. Louis runs his hand down his face.

"Money is taking over the world. People value the cash that flow into their pockets more than a human being's feelings and trust. People value the gold they dig more than the others who died digging. Why is that?" Louis rambles unconsciously, pacing in front of the elevator. Homeostasis, Louis thinks. It's all homeostasis.

"Well, sometimes, maybe some feelings and some trust need to be lost in order to fulfil another, more important person's needs. Family. Making money to feed the fam, you know?" Harry says, and Louis hears a fridge close in the background. He snickers.

"How do you do it?" Louis asks.

"Do what?"

"Make the world seem like a good place to be in."

"That's because it is. The world is full of wonder and beautiful things, and people tend to push it away and focus on the odds and sods instead of stepping back and seeing how everything is perfect the way it is." Harry tells him. Louis watches as the doors of the elevator hiss open. He stands still for a second, contemplating. He walks towards the stairs.

Louis doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to respond to that, so he lets out a long chorus of groans and grumbles. He hears his footsteps on the concrete stairs in the background of Harry's laughter, merging together and tangling themselves in a part of Louis' brain.

"Don't laugh, that was me appreciating the world." At this Harry barks out another, bigger laugh, and Louis goes along with it while trudging up the stairs. He slips his free hand into the pocket of his dress pants, and maybe the world is beautiful. Talking to Harry is unhealthy.

"So. Any reason you called me?" Louis asks, and slows his pace when he notices he's getting close to his floor. There was a pause, and for a second everything else slows along with his pace, going quieter and quieter and even more so until Harry's gruff voice speaks into the phone.

"I was thinking, do you want to catch up? Have dinner some time? Saturday maybe?" Harry rushes out, and the words are distorted, sounding like he had his bottom lip pinched between two of his fingers. Louis halts in his step for half a second before continuing on.

"Hmm. I don't know, I need to check my schedule." Louis tells Harry, but he's already caving three hours of his Saturday evening in his head. Harry chuckles nervously into Louis' ear because he doesn't know that.

"Okay.... Assuming that you can make it, what do you think about Marianne?" Harry asks, and Louis ponders for a bit. "Fantastic little place. Sure." Louis says while he steps on the last step up to the second floor.

"Great." Harry cheers, and both of them don't say much after that. That lasts for as long as however long it took for Louis to walk up to his door, and he prays that Scott doesn't open it.

"Well, I've got to go now. I'll tell you if I can um... Make it." Louis says, a bit softer, afraid that Scott might hear him. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits for an answer.

"Alright. 11pm's the deadline. Anything after that is declined." Harry giggles after he realises the rhyme, and Louis shakes his head at the ground. "Deal." He hangs up, and takes the keys out of his blazer pocket to open the door.

The next few hours are a blur of eating dinner, small conversations and making coffee. Later in the night, when Louis is watching Friends under his boyfriend's arm, he thinks about Marianne on a Saturday evening with a boy with curly hair that reminds him of youth and love. First love.

At exactly 10:59pm, he texts Harry.

_pick you up 6pm Saturday._


	2. Chapter 2

So maybe Louis is early. Really early. But that doesn't justify the sweat in his palms, or the tapping of his feet. He stands in front of his mirror, staring at himself.

"Don't look at me like that." He points at the flat screen. The reflection points back at him. 

He's wearing a dark grey shirt, faded blue jeans and a denim jacket. His feet are bare, and his toes wriggle against the floor. Louis sighs. He lets his hair fall to a fringe, sweeping it to the side. He doesn't gel up his hair or make it look as elegant as it would on a normal workday, doesn't bother doing anything with it because Harry was once a person who shampooed it out of its worst state. Sat behind him in a tub and gently rubbed through his scalp with apple scented bubbles on a lazy Sunday morning. Louis looks at the time.

5:27.

Three hours ago when he last checked, it was 5:25. 

He blows a raspberry, and walks away from the mirror. He thinks if he looked at himself any longer, he'll start scolding. He enters the living room and turns on the television. Scott is out attending some celebration with his colleagues, and Louis wonders how he squeezed himself out of Scott's company tonight. But then again, he's lucky Scott's got somewhere to go, or he'd be obliged to bring him along.

There's nothing good on telly, except for soap operas that Louis doesn't particularly favour and Jamie Oliver cooking up 30 minute meals. He stops browsing and leaves the British man blabbering on about lemon zest and graters. He looks at the time again.

5:30. Alright, it's moving a bit faster now. 

He rereads the text from Harry of which he tells him where he lives. It's a 10 minute drive. Eight years ago when Louis was an abled schoolboy and Harry was a fool in love, a 7 hour journey from each other caused a cruel separation. Somehow that's been altered by the universe to a point where they are both only 10 minutes from each other. Louis desperately swims away from the rough waters where his thoughts collide, up to the surface and breathes into his lungs.

5:33. Louis gets up and switches the television off. He'll get there 15 minutes earlier, whatever, he'll wait downstairs and call Harry at six anyway. He takes the keys, his wallet and switches all the lights off before exiting his apartment. He lets out and breath and it comes out in soft shots. 

He gets into his car, sliding into the leather seat and shutting the door in one swift move. An action he'd learn to master through the years, having to wear a tux in public and not wanting to look inelegant as he enters his car. Sort of like the movies, yes, when a calm, collected and well-composed businessman gets into his Aston Martin while the onlookers admire his posture and all. Going about intriguing people. That's what Louis does, intrigue people. He's good at it.

He turns the key in ignition, sighing contently as his engine revs. He drowns himself in the rather loud sound, echoing itself across the silence of the spacious car park. He drives out of the building.

The lights of London shine through the windows of Louis' car as he manoeuvres around the busy streets, casting menacing shadows on the seats and his lap. The noise and chattering of late night tourists tangle themselves with the sounds of engines and wheels scraping against tarred roads. Louis' hand grips the steering wheel tighter as he turns a corner. 

Some meaningless pop song blares through the speakers and fills the air around Louis. He recognises it as one of the songs that are played way too often to not know about, and hums along. Listening in to the lyrics he wonders when exactly did mankind swoop to such an amusing new low.

Ahead of him, he sees an old, almost rusty building, its orangey-red paint job softly lit under glowing light. The windows are panelled and long, some with blurred light gleaming through and some dull and dark. He takes it as Harry's building, seeing as it fits the criteria of Harry's brief description through text.

He closes in towards the entrance of the building, awaiting a 15 minute stand-by until he can fish out his phone and dial Harry's number. What he doesn't expect is a dim silhouette sitting on the floor against the walls, hunched over a bright screen, endless legs and all. Louis pulls up quietly in front of it.

He winds down the window and takes a second look to make sure. Recognising the curly strands that peek out of the corners of a beanie, he chuckles lightly and leans outwards a little. 

"And I for one thought I was early." He announces, and watches as Harry's head snaps up, earphones tight in his ears. He grins shyly, and reaches up to take them out. 

"Sorry, went and got ready too early." Harry replies, standing up and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. He stands there for awhile, looking down at his feet and rocking back and forth on his heels. Louis stares at him, remembers every strand of curly hair and every sharp turn of a jawline. He smiles and clears his throat.

"Well, are you going to get in, or what?" Louis teases and winds the window back up. Harry stirs at the comment and makes his way to the passenger seat. Opening the door, he freezes and looks around the interior of the car. He gives a satisfied nod before stepping in, and Louis just rolls his eyes.

"Sick car." Harry says after closing the door. He slides his fingers across the dashboard and the sides of the leather seats. Louis has his head high and was ready to express his gratitude when Harry added, "sick car, but shit music. Shit, shit music." 

Harry shakes his head, as if he's disappointed at Louis. "Where has all the effort of my educating you gone?" 

Louis snorts, and turns to look at Harry. He has a disapproving look on his face, staring and grimacing at the car's radio outlet. "Wow Harold, I am seriously let down by your hospitality towards an old friend." Louis retorts, and watches Harry's expression as he hears it.

His head snaps up, and if something strange flickered over his face for half a second he hides it really well. Instead, he puts his nose up high and stares down at Louis. "You should be honoured that I value you so much I'm willing to re-educate you on this. Now, please let me access the Bluetooth syncing of your car. It's time to rid of this terrible screeching in my ear." Harry announces, fiddling around with the buttons of the radio outlet.

Louis scoffs, but turns to the front and drives anyway. He leads himself away from Harry's flat and towards Marianne. From the side of Louis' eye, Harry fishes his iPod out of his pocket and thumbs around the screen. A second later, the poppy songs were cut off and a super hippie tune sounds through the car. 

Like, super, super hippie.

"What is this, a relapse of the 70's major hippie movement?" Louis scowls playfully. Harry only smirks, and continues to scroll through the playlist on his iPod. "It's called good music. A hit by the legendary Arctic Monkeys. Appreciate it." 

"Monkeys don't even live in the arctic." 

"The Wanted aren't even actually wanted." 

"That's a terrible joke. Over the years I would've thought you've improved." Louis jokes, and receives a glare in return. Harry tries to keep a displeased face, staring at Louis from the corner of his eye. Louis stops at a red light and watches Harry.

Slowly, Harry's face contorts, squeezing together like he's eaten something exceptionally sour and bursts out laughing. Louis' laughing too, hunching over the steering wheel and he finds himself staring as Harry has his head thrown back in loud, roaring laughter. 

He's almost cackling, with his eyes shut tightly and a hand to his stomach. 

"It was a good joke, shut up." Harry wheezes, and buries his face behind his hands as Louis steps down on the accelerator. Louis looks over at him for a brief moment, and turns back to the road.

A moment of silence passed between them, with the sound of Louis' palms sliding across the steering wheel and Harry's fingers drumming on the dashboard. The noise from outside seeps in, blending with the groovy music playing from the speakers. Louis settles in the quiet and stares at the road ahead of him, until Harry decides to break it. "Knock knock." 

"Are you fucking serious Ha-"

"Knock knock." 

Louis sighs and rubs a hand down his face, trying to physically wipe a coming smile away because it's not working psychologically. "Who's there?" He says in a pretentiously exasperated tone.

Harry smirks. "A broken pencil."

"A broken pencil who?"

"Never mind, it's pointless." Harry looks at him with this amused face, like he's just waiting for Louis to crack up and start crying. His eyebrows are shot up, and big gleaming green eyes are staring at Louis.

"Ha-fucking-ha." 

At this, Harry claps a hand to his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. There are muffled sounds seeping through his fingers, and his shoulders shake miserably. Louis scoffs playfully. "It's not even that funny."

"Forget it." Harry says after a while, struggling to keep a straight face. "I won't waste my efforts on people who don't appreciate good jokes. There's no point." He says and laughs again. Louis shakes his head, but Harry's contagious mood and his crinkled eyes and his soft curls and his dimpled smile and his being all in all gets to Louis, and he chuckles. Very lightly though, lightly enough to be safe. 

They arrive at Marianne with their fingers warmed by the heaters of the car and their hearts by effortless banter. They exit the car, and walk up to Marianne's entrance. It's a busy business, waiters bustling about serving platters and platters of food and joyful chatter blending together to create a wave of calm sounds in the background. Louis turns to the manager at the reception.

"Good evening. Can we have a table for two, please?" 

The manager looks up and his expression turns wary. He has wrinkles etched everywhere on his face, his forehead, his cheeks, the corners of his eyes. He tries to smile at Louis to seem friendly. It doesn't work.

"You... You are the only two? There is no one else with you?" The manager slowly drags out his words. Louis struggles to understand the meaning behind his question. "I'm sorry? Um... No." He states, but it almost sounds like a question. No, but why do you want to know? 

"I'm... We..." The manager tries to explain, but he pauses to chuckle nervously. He looks up at Louis and Harry again. "I don't know how else to say it, sir. But, we're sorry, we can't take customers that um.. Aren't particularly alike to common people." 

Louis stares blankly at the manager for a second. Then realisation dawns upon him.

"We're... Me and Harry, we're, we're not a-" 

"I'm really sorry sir, it is just our policy, and in order to ensure the maintenance of comfort among our customers we avoid taking in people who are-" Louis cuts him off with a snort. He can feel Harry's fury from where he's standing, but he's not doing anything.

"You're fucking kidding." Louis spits, looking at the manager dead in the eye. He cleared his throat. "Sir, we would appreciate if you don't make a scene-"

"Oh so you're just a house full of homophobes? Is that what it is? Gay people are banned?" Louis asks with a loud voice, loud enough that the restaurant falls silent at his words to look at him. 

"Sir, if you keep this up, as much as I don't want to, I might have to call out security-" the managers mutters quiet but fast to Louis. Louis cuts him off. "Wow. This is officially a new low." 

Louis was about to say more when he feels a tugging on his arm. He turns around, and Harry is staring at him pleadingly. "It's not worth it, come on. Come on." He says, and pulls Louis out of the restaurant. Suddenly all words are lost from his tongue, so all he does is glare at the manager as hard as he can. 

He feels a rush of cold air and watches as the glass of the door blurs out the manager's face. "Bastard." He mutters, and walks beside Harry. Harry is grinning cheekily, and staring at the road in front of him. 

"What?"

"What what?" 

"Why are you smiling like that?" 

"Nothing. Well, come on, there's this really good hot dog stand just around the corner."

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely absolutely love love love you if you've read it to the bottom! Holy damn! Love you! Blah! Sorry if there are little mistakes, I'll try and improve :) polite corrections will be appreciated :D
> 
> -Ryann x  
> (I'm a girl, btw, and you can find me on tumblr --> theheartoftomlinson)


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